Just Enough
by AnyAmy
Summary: September 11, 2001 was a terrible day for all, even those with a slightly different perspective...


** JUST ENOUGH **

by Amy (thegoodonesweregone@yahoo.ca )   
A friend told me I should post this here, even though it made its debut a while ago: _September 16, 2001._   
Notes at end. 

New York is a place of life. Everywhere you look, swarms of yellow taxicabs and hurrying pedestrians pulse through the cement arteries carved between structures of glass and cement. Communications in the form of strange electrical impulses allow its citizens to affect circumstances on the other side of the city, or even the world. It's almost a living, breathing thing itself; an overpowering world with a language of car horns, street side music, police sirens, and swallowed voices. 

Two of those voices belong to two women, physically opposite in almost every respect, and alike in most ways that count. They were currently standing in Manhattan, slightly off from the endless current of people flowing by, and staring up at a marvel of architecture, and up. And _up._

"The twin towers of the World Trade Center are Minoru Yamasaki's most famous architectural work. Covered in glistening metal, the one-hundred and ten story buildings have been a defining part of New York's skyline since 1974," a lilting voice recited. It belonged to a lovely woman in a pastel sundress, her light-coloured hair reflecting the morning sunshine. 

Her companion, a large black woman, turned her gaze away from the building. An emotion of infinite sadness in her eyes was quickly replaced with irritation. "And where'd you learn that, Angel-girl?" she asked. 

"Brochure," the first speaker answered. To most mortal observers, she appeared the younger by decades, but the correct difference was counted in millennia. "Much of America's foreign trade takes place in these towers, and the World Trade Center has acquired a reputation as a monument of peace," she continued. There was pause filled only with the white noise of city culture, and then she smiled at her mentor. "They've built them so tall, Tess. Almost as if they wanted to keep building all the way to heaven." 

The older woman grunted her opinion of the comment. "They've tried that before, if you care to remember. And what happened then?" 

Accustomed to her mentor's temperament, the woman with the Irish accent kept smiling. She followed the towers with her eyes until they gave way to the brilliant blue sky. "Is my assignment in there?" she asked. 

The older woman sighed, and all the strength in her bearing dissipated for a moment. She looked up past the towers, past the atmosphere, seeming to be listening to something in that distance. Then she managed a gruff smile at her friend and protégé, who was still staring at the buildings. "Soon. Come on, Angel-girl, I'll buy you a coffee." She glanced at the twin towers, and wrapped and arm around her charge. The temperature dropped as they walked through the buildings' shadow, and she shivered involuntarily. "For this assignment, Monica," she said, "coffee might be the least you'll need." 

* * *

Beside a water cooler high in one of those tall metal towers, a lone man stood visible but unnoticed by human eyes. An expression of both old wisdom and youthful enthusiasm was displayed on his face; a disconcerting mixture most people found easiest to ignore. Anyone passing who happened to glance his way saw only another person waiting, and there were certainly many of those in any place of business. They didn't sense anything special about him - not in his pale suit, not in his curiously solemn stance - or if they did, they didn't dwell on it for long. Humans tend not to acknowledge anything that doesn't fit exactly into their world view unless they absolutely have to, and those who reside in New York are particularly guilty of that trait. 

Occasionally, the man would check an antique pocket watch, for those who had assumed him to be waiting were correct. He wasn't quite sure what he was waiting for, but he had the distinct impression it was going to happen soon, most likely sooner than he would wish. As the morning wore on, he became slightly anxious. Although he was usually a very patient individual, he felt a strong desire to either get the morning's events over with, whatever they were, or, preferably, not deal with them at all. 

At about eight thirty, when most of the businesses were finally open, he saw another man walking down the hallway towards him, and his apprehension felt suddenly validated. There was nothing immediately extraordinary about this man either, except, perhaps, a grin that suggested he had seen everything the world had to offer and was still amused by it all. His eyes lit with a question as he approached and poured himself a paper cup of water. "Andrew!" he offered in greeting. 

"Hello, Adam," said the first man. 

Adam swallowed the water and let out a puff of air. "Do you know how many stairs there are in this building?" When Andrew shook his head, he continued, "Me neither. I stopped counting at the thirtieth floor." 

Andrew smiled at his friend. "You walked the whole way up?" 

"How else do you get up here? Fly?" 

Andrew laughed. "I took the elevator," he said. 

Adam grinned back at him. "Well," he said, "I'm not sure whether to say it's good to see you again or not. I guess it depends on the circumstances." Most of his jovial mood faded, and he stared at Andrew seriously. 

"Do you know why you're here?" Andrew asked. 

Adam glanced around the hallway in a semi-paranoid manor. "No," he confided. "Do you?" 

"No." 

Adam sighed. "That means it's bad." 

"How bad?" 

"I don't know." 

A group of business people walked by, barely glancing at the pair beside the water cooler. Behind them was a woman in a pastel suit, following so close she almost appeared to be part of the crowd as they joked and discussed a sporting event some of them had tickets for. She nodded in recognition as she passed. 

Andrew watched them until they turned a corner. "I think you might be right," he said. 

Adam shrugged. "That's nothing. I saw about a half dozen archangels in a debate on floor twenty-something. And I'm not even going to try counting the caseworkers lined up outside. Okay, maybe I-" 

Something similar to cold passed through them, and Andrew shuddered. "Don't you feel that?" he said. 

"You mean that vague, persistent sense that something somewhere is terribly, terribly wrong and getting closer and probably very much worse?" 

A small bookish man appeared in the middle of the hallway. He glanced at them, frowned at an electronic device in his hand, and promptly vanished. 

Andrew nodded. "Yes," he said. "This whole morning, everything. I mean, doesn't it, sort of, remind you of Hiro-" 

Adam held up a hand. "Don't even say it," he hissed. 

They both heard footsteps at about the same time, and turned to see a heavyset black man walking towards them. He smiled sadly. "Hello," he said. 

"Sam, what's going on?" Andrew asked. 

Sam bent down and poured himself a cup of water. When he had finished drinking it, he poured another. 

"I think it's a pretty fair question, considering," Adam said. 

When he had finished off the refill, Sam faced them. The other two were surprised to see how haggard he looked. "I think," he said, "that you'll find out soon enough. Too soon." He wiped his mouth and threw his cup in the garbage. 

"Alright," Andrew said. "But tell us, how many angels are here right now?" 

Sam repeated his smile. "Same as always," he said. "Just enough." He glanced at his watch. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a flight to catch," he said, and disappeared. 

The remaining two stared at the spot where he had been for a few seconds. Then Adam grinned again, but it was a tight, grim expression. He put more water in his own paper cup and shot it back as though it was something much stronger. He tossed his empty cup in the recycling container, and then put Sam's cup there as well. "Waste not, right?" he explained to Andrew with a harsh laugh, and started off again down the corridor. 

Andrew looked at his own watch, but it couldn't tell him anything other than the time. He put it back in his pocket, and watched Adam walk purposefully down the hall to nowhere that he could determine. The tin voice of a television talked passionately about tax cuts, and a woman's laughter echoed from somewhere nearby. 

And then there was a brilliant flash of light, which was almost touched by the flames of the explosion that followed. 

* * *

The first thing Monica noticed was darkness. It was a total darkness, the like of which she had experienced only once before: when she had been rendered temporarily blind for an assignment. She didn't allow herself to worry that this circumstance had repeated itself, only accept it, but was nonetheless relieved when she noticed a light appear nearby. It was a warm, compelling light, and, unsure of other options, she started towards it. 

Sounds of groaning metal and falling objects resounded about her, but the light was a beacon, not an illumination, and she couldn't see their source. The air was silent of screams or other human noises, but she wasn't sure whether to find this comforting. Once, as she stumbled over invisible debris, she fell onto something suspiciously soft. Closer examination found a cluster of people, but they would never need her services. An angel with a different job had taken care of them. 

It took her a while to reach the light, for it kept changing directions, and at times it seemed there were more than one. As she eventually got closer, she began to hear voices. 

"...but I can't be dead. It isn't possible!" 

"Believe me. It's possible," said a more familiar voice. 

"No. See, I was at work in my desk just a second ago. I can't be dead." 

"Look. Do you see?" The light became a little brighter. "You are most definitely dead. Now please... I'm sorry. But I really don't have the time to argue." 

"_You're_ having a bad day!?" 

There was a sigh. "I think maybe-" 

Monica forced her mind to remember the identity of the familiar voice. "Adam!" she called. "Is that you?" 

The voice paused. "Monica?" 

Monica rushed towards him, tripping over a broken pipeline on her way. He became discernable from the light as she neared, along with a young woman staring despondently at a body that looked a lot like her. "Listen, lady," she said when she saw Monica. "Tell this freak I'm not dead. It's all just a big mistake." 

Monica wasn't sure what to say to that. "What happened?" she said. 

Adam indicated the environment with a shaky hand. "There'll be time to exchange stories later," he told her. "Right now..." He shrugged. 

Monica glanced around and saw nothing. "Is Andrew here?" she asked. 

"I'd guess so. Somewhere. Most of us are." 

Monica nodded. "Is anyone still alive?" 

"Yes!" shouted the woman. "Me!" 

Adam looked at her in such a way that Monica wondered if angels were susceptible to shock. "Yes," he finally said. "But after we've dealt with everyone... I don't know." 

Monica nodded. "Thank you." She gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile at the woman, and then headed into the darkness. 

The woman continued yelling at the Angel of Death, who suggested, "How about I come back for you later?" 

The last Monica heard of the conversation was the woman screaming, "What? You're going to leave me here?!" 

As Monica moved further away, she heard other noises; a badly tuned radio, a ringing cell phone, an occasional shorter conversation. The drip of leaking liquid and the hiss of escaping stream was underscored by the faint crackle of a distant fire. The structures posing as walls shuddered when she brushed against them, and she almost halted, afraid she might be responsible for collapsing them and killing any possible survivors. 

It was many minutes into her quest when a hand reached out and grabbed her ankle. A a man in a fireman's uniform was revealed by a bright light, and she was momentarily startled to discover it was coming from her. Both his legs were hidden under a huge block of cement, and his eyes were red with collected blood. He looked up at Monica and choked on the air she didn't have to breathe. "Are you an Angel?" he asked. 

Monica knelt beside him and put his hand in hers. A new cascade of tears ran down her face. 

"Yes." 

  
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===============================================   
Yes, this is another Tuesday's disaster story. No, you don't know me. I am not really part of this fandom, but I felt a strange urge to do something about the trajedy, and writing seemed almost as good a release as flying down to NY and helping, which I can't do anyway... But I digress. 

This was written mainly for me, because I had a bit of difficulty accepting what happened as part of reality. It's good to have a project that makes you think about things you need to, and this was the only fandom I could think of at that moment. I realize that this particular type of story will soon be, if it isn't already, very common. Also, I haven't seen any new episodes of this show for at least a season, so I apologize if everyone seems out of character. But if you liked it, or it helped you in some way, please tell me. 

:|   
Amy   
thegoodonesweregone@yahoo.ca 


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